


J & R Pawn

by apple_pi



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-13
Updated: 2010-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here in Junction City, Kansas, there is a pawn shop called "J & R PAWN"; the shop is on the main street, Washington, but not in the renovated section of downtown. It's further down, closer to the road that, if you stay on it, takes you through a strip of woods, across the Kansas River, and onto Ft. Riley army post. At this end of Washington, the stores cater to soldiers, and they tend toward gun shops, strip clubs, used car dealerships and Chinese restaurants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	J & R Pawn

**Author's Note:**

> Cate said, "I ask you, f-list - what are John and Rodney doing in your world / imagination today? Anywhere, earthside or not, AU or not, share a wee snippet of what they're doing. And we can all drift a little while we work and take care of our kids and dodge our advisers and try and read that book for that term paper and do the grocery shopping and try to meet our deadlines."
> 
> And she gave us some [Iowa-verse](http://sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com/185803.html) beauty to tide us over, and lots of other people gave gorgeous stories, too. But I thought about her question, and this is what I always thought when I drove past "Jack and Dick's Pawnshop" downtown in the place where I lived.

Here in Junction City, Kansas, there is a pawn shop called "J &amp; R PAWN"; the shop is on the main street, Washington, but not in the renovated section of downtown. It's further down, closer to the road that, if you stay on it, takes you through a strip of woods, across the Kansas River, and onto Ft. Riley army post. At this end of Washington, the stores cater to soldiers, and they tend toward gun shops, strip clubs, used car dealerships and Chinese restaurants. J &amp; R Pawn butts right up to Jin Jin Garden Chinese Restaurant, and across the street is Dick Edwards Used Cars; on the other side is the athletic field for the Catholic high school, St. Xavier.

If you go into J &amp; R Pawn, probably you'll see John behind the counter. He's a quiet, friendly guy with a flat, drawling voice. Former military, which you can tell from the fact that he's still lean and fit - he's a tall drink of water, and he's better looking than your average pawn-shop owner, that's for sure. His hair makes up the "former" part of "former military," because no Army sergeant (or officer for that matter, or even Air Force) would have anything to do with John's wild, spiky hair. (He has it cut by Tricia at the Mane Thing, over on 6th Street, he'll tell you if you ask, but only with an embarrassed expression, insisting she's the only one in town who can deal with his cowlicks. "I have two, it's crazy," he says, and then he'll say his mom always said two cowlicks are extra lucky.)

He slouches on a stool back there and he'll give you a decent price for your guitar or the stereo you don't feel like packing away before your unit ships out to Iraq. (He always checks the serial number against the police list, though, so don't take him stolen goods. It pisses him off, and that's something not many want to see twice.) He'll take jewelry and listen to the sad stories that come along with it, but he won't take guns; knives are okay, mostly, and there are some gorgeous ones in the glass case under the counter.

If you stand around shooting the breeze long enough with John, you might hear noises from the back room. That's Rodney, the "R" half of J &amp; R. He's not as nice as John, and he's some kind of crazy mad scientist. You wouldn't believe it, except you've heard the clang and snap of metal and wire back there, heard him yell out a cuss word as something sparks bright enough to throw shadows out the always-open door to the workroom.

When that happens John cranes his head back over his shoulder and says loudly, "Do I need to call the fire department?"

Usually this is met with more profanity, but occasionally (once you see, twice you hear about) the answer is "Yes, yes, and hurry up about it!" (Really though John just hooks the fire extinguisher off the wall and goes back to deal with it. They hardly ever call for outside assistance.)

When Rodney does, on rare occasion, emerge (usually to inspect an electronic offering from a customer), you can get a look at him. He's a big guy, shorter than John but not short, and broad shouldered, with a perpetually frowning face and bright blue eyes that spark and snap as hot and furious as his tools there, in the back. John's anger is rare and frightening; Rodney's is constant, a barrage of disdain and ridicule for the world in general, and whatever hapless soul happens to be in the vicinity in particular. Rodney's fast, reckless spill of words always seems to leave John's whole face stiff as he tries to hold in his laughter.

If you ask how they know each other, there are vague replies - a waved hand from Rodney and a mutter of "We worked together, I got used to him," and from John, just a shrug. They've had the shop for a few years, now, and they do well with John there to charm the women and talk shop with the men who bring him their Playstations and trumpets, wedding rings and watches. There's a house over on Ash, about ten minutes away, and sometimes the two of them show up at big community events, like the Sundown Salute for Independence Day, or Apple Days up on post, or the little 4-H Fair and Rodeo on the west edge of town. Mostly, though, they both seem to be at the shop, John ready with a smile, Rodney with his sharp eyes and quick words.

Once you come in and there's no one behind the counter, but there are voices from the back room - quiet murmurs, soft laughter. You wonder who's back there, and maybe you lean over the counter to see. Instead of John with some woman, there's John pressed against Rodney, faces tilted together, smiles visible at the corners of their mouths. Rodney's hands are on John's waist, and John's arms are wrapped most of the way around Rodney's big shoulders, and - well, it's still not a common thing in a small Kansas town, and you know some people wouldn't understand. But you've never seen that look on Rodney's face, never seen him looking unguarded and pleased with the world. And John's shoulders have never looked so loose before, so you pad back to the door and lean down; pick up the bell that's fallen onto a faded chaise longue that's been collecting dust by the entrance since before John and Rodney changed the name to J &amp; R Pawn.

You let the bell jangle in your hands and walk boldly (slowly) to the counter, taking your time, looking at a rickety metal shelf full of clocks on the way. John comes out of the back room, smile in place, hair no messier then usual. "Hey, how're you?" he says, and you hold the bell up.

"Fell down," you say.

He nods and takes it from you, still smiling. "I thought I heard something earlier," he says, and then he asks what you've brought in today, or did you want to get that guitar back out of hock?


End file.
